The Detour
by NotsoSugarQueen
Summary: Reyna Vivaldi isn't exactly the most rebellious person in the world. And with her plans for UCLA with her crush and her best friend in the fall, she never planned on leaving it all behind. Until now. And she knows she has to escape. Destination? Manhattan, where an old friend offers her a place to stay. And maybe figure out her life at some point during the 3,452 mile drive. R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**The Detour-**

**A.N.: Yeah, I know I'm writing a lot of fanfictions lately. But I'm also wrapping up my I.D. story; ****Masquerade****, today, and to be honest, this story idea has been bugging me for weeks. So you just have to understand that I simply HAD to write this. Otherwise, I would've been beside myself with writer's block concerning my other fanfictions. And just note that this is a Leyna fanfiction, and I do not ship Jeyna or Liper of any of those stupid pairings THAT WILL NEVER HAPPEN. Or at least, SHOULD never happen. And this is my first AU fanfiction, so I'm trying it out. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Rick Riordan owns PJO. Not me, since I'm a teenage girl who likes to write fanfiction.**

One: Reyna PoV

I slammed the door, the window panes rattling. I tossed my bag onto the couch and sank to the floor, burying my face in my hands.

_Why? Why was I always this close?_

Swearing colorfully under my breath, I pushed myself up and stormed into the kitchen. Aunt Circe was off on one of her business trips, so I didn't take care to be quiet.

The sight of them together, hand in hand, laughing, kissing, touching…

My stomach lurched and I choked down a sob, making my way to my room. I pulled my big, ancient set of lavender vintage suitcases out from under my bed. They were covered in dust and the paint was wearing off at the corners, but they suited my purpose. I yanked clothes from my drawers, shirts, jeans, even a sundress or two, stuffing them inside. I traded my jeans and gold tank top for a pair of black yoga pants and a purple racerback, pulling my hair into a loose ponytail. Books, a few magazines and a picture of my mom joined the mix on the floor.

I was packing for possibly the biggest mistake of my life. It was, by far, the most rebellious thing I'd ever done. But Circe would be supportive. She was fiercely independent and believed in doing what needed to be done. And this needed to be done, for my sanity. And when she called, I'd just feed her some 'I'm taking time to travel the country and expand my horizons in order to find myself' crap. She'd eat it up and tell me to call her if I needed anything, gushing about how lovely of an idea it was.

And my mother… she didn't need to find out. And she wouldn't. Because Circe wouldn't bother to tell her, and my mother wasn't due for a visit home from Afghanistan for at least a year.

Maybe I was taking the easy way out, but for once, I wasn't too concerned with the state of my pride.

Once I was done, I snapped the suitcases shut and hauled them outside, shoving them into the trunk of my car. I dashed back inside, scribbling a note to Circe about how Dakotah was taking care of the dogs and I was headed to New York to stay with a friend for awhile. Guilt bubbled up in my stomach, but I shoved it down and locked the door to the apartment behind me.

My car is a roughed up old silver Cadillac convertible from the 80s. It was a boat of a car, which made it a pain to parallel park, but I liked it well enough to make up for its slightly eccentric appearance. I stuck the keys in the ignition and peeled out of the suburban driveway, not hesitating to crank up the radio.

I'd hastily texted Annabeth on the way home from the party, and she'd replied in a heartbeat with her Manhattan address. I'd memorized it perfectly in the relatively short span of time I'd known it, it's concrete significance keeping me grounded and focused on the long road head. Because if I stopped driving, even for a second, I was afraid my sense of logic would kick in and tell me to turn the hell around and get back to San Francisco before everyone noticed I was gone.

But I wanted to be gone. I wanted to leave and never come back. To just drop off the face of the earth. I would practically rather die than see _them_ together again.

Memories of the party came to the surface, and I responded by turning the radio up even louder and singing along to some country song that I only knew half the words to. I rummaged through my purse and grabbed my iPhone, not hesitating to pop the address into the GPS.

It was nearly seven o'clock, and the sun was setting on my back. The endless stretch of asphalt and yellow lines in front of me calmed my mind somehow, flushing the anger from my system and replacing it with a focused determination. The highway made me feel small and insignificant, like a comma in a thousand page book.

My phone buzzed, the GPS blotted out by a text notification.

A text from _him_.

**WHERE R U?**

I shook my head and ignored it, turning off the ringer to avoid any further interruption from anyone back home. Miranda Lambert was blasting through the speakers now, and I tapped my foot to the beat as a cruised along the highway. To hell with them. How could he have been so freaking blind? And her too? You'd expect your best friends to know you better.

Well, the world had a way of surprising me in the worst way, it seemed.

I glanced out at the highway before me, and then at my GPS.

I had a long way to go. But it would be worth it.

**So there's the fabulous first chapter! I know it was a little short, but if I was going to make it sort of intriguing, I can't give too much away too soon. I hope you all liked it, and if you would, please do review. And I have started my freshman year of high school, so I won't be updating all the time. I'm shooting for a good lengthy chapter once or twice every two weeks. Anyways, please review, and don't be afraid. Constructive criticism is ALWAYS appreciated. Thanks so much for reading!**

**Xoxo-NotsoSugarQueen**


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N.: So I got a few encouraging reviews, which was definitely nice. So there's not a ton to say… Except to enjoy the update!**

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own PJO. Rick Riordan does.**

Two: Reyna PoV

I stopped somewhere near the state line at two am, my mind finally starting to get fuzzy from lack of sleep. I pulled into the parking lot of some crappy motel and parked the Cadillac. Tucking the keys into my pocket, I slid my feet into my flip flops and hopped out of the car.

The motel had the feel of something that was holding onto the past, with it's broadway style flickering lights that blinked on and off, spelling out the name: _Motel California. _How utterly original.

The check in room was done in varying shades of gray. Maybe a few decades ago it had been white. But now the linoleum tile was worn down, and the baseboards of the front desk were scuffed horribly. A girl who looked like she'd rather be out lighting up was sitting in a swivel desk chair chewing a huge wad of pink bubblegum, music blasting from her earphones.

"Can I help you?" she asked, giving me a once over, her eyebrows arching critically at my disheveled appearance as she slid her earphones out of her ears. Well, she could stuff it, because she looked a hell of a lot worse. Her hair was dyed blond, the roots showing, and the ends were purple. Her makeup looked to be a mix of eyeliner and black shit, which gave her the look of a raccoon. And her ratty sweatshirt didn't make things much better.

"One room, one night stay," I said, not bothering with a please. I doubted she would appreciate it anyways.

"That will be…" she trailed off, glancing at the screen of her computer. "Ninety dollars please." I searched my wallet for my emergency credit card, financed by Circe. And if I considered my own sanity and well being an urgent matter, I figured the use of it was pretty well justified. I swiped the plastic card through the machine and it beeped its acceptance.

The girl tossed an old key over the counter. "Room fifty-two," she smacked, popping a bubble before plugging her earphones back. I grabbed the key and wandered off down to the right. Guess she wouldn't be much help for actually finding the room.

After a good ten minutes, I figured out where room fifty-two was, and I unlocked the door. It was gray, a lot like the lobby, and I surveyed the scene. The carpet was dirty looking, but the bathroom looked like it had been recently cleaned, at the very least. I headed back outside to the parking lot to grab one of my suitcases and locked the Cadillac behind me before returning the room.

I decided I wouldn't take a chance sleeping on the bed, and instead opted for the floor. The comforter had some weird hair on it, and I didn't waste time wondering how it had gotten there in the first place. Luckily, I'd had the common sense to pack my pillow, so I changed into a pair of baggy sweatpants, a sports bra and a sweatshirt, flicked off the light and curled up.

Luxury for a girl like me, huh?

Morning came, and for a second, I couldn't remember why I had been sleeping on the floor of some foreign motel room as opposed to at home in my bed.

And then I remembered.

_Him. Her. Together._

My stomach lurched and I surged upwards, stumbling on my way towards the bathroom. I heaved the contents of my Subway dinner from last night into the toilet, and settled for spitting out the bad taste instead of risking the water.

I exchanged my sweats for some distressed jean shorts, a comfortable bra, and a loose fitting white blouse that just skimmed the waistline of my shorts. My hair looked like I'd stuck my finger in an electric socket for the thrill of it, so I braided it in twin French braids to minimize the deranged look. I slipped on my sandals, removed the ruined make-up from last night, and swiped on some lip balm and a fresh coat of mascara.

I was as good as new.

On the outside, at the very least.

I still felt like a train wreck emotionally, but I was working on that.

Reluctant to stay any longer, I packed up everything into the one suitcase I'd brought inside from my car and checked out of the hotel. My car was, thankfully, in tact, and obviously not hot-wired by some sketchy creeper who had the same taste in vintage as I did. I tossed my luggage into the trunk with the rest of it, slid my sunglasses over my eyes and stuck the key into the ignition. Sorry, Motel California. You're not nearly far away enough from San Francisco for me.

The day was bright and sunny, and there was a good breeze on the air as I scoured the area for a place to get breakfast before I hit the highway again. It would've been easier to get going now, but my stomach was not having it.

I settled for a fifty's style breakfast diner on the corner of two intersecting streets in the small town. It was cute, and it made me think of all those times the three of us had gone out on Saturday mornings before we hit the beach or the movies. My heart cringed, but I shoved the feelings down and snagged a seat at the breakfast bar. The chairs were red leather and silver, and swiveled, and I twisted from side to side as I examined the menu.

Eggs Benedict sounded nice. And I needed some coffee too.

I gave my order to a waiter behind the counter and he took my menu and hurried to attend to some other customers further down. I sighed and took my phone out of my pocket.

Twenty-nine new messages, and seven missed calls.

My heart thudded in my chest as I scrolled through my unread texts.

**WHERE R U? WE'RE STILL AT THE PARTY, BUT CAN'T FIND U!**

** PPL R SAYING U LEFT. R U OKAY?**

** REY, CALL ME IF U GET THIS! WE R RLY WORRIED!**

To name a few. I didn't even want to listen to the voicemails they'd left me. They would only make me feel guilty, and I hadn't done anything wrong. I just wanted time to think, somewhere far away from them. And Manhattan was conveniently located all the way across America.

"Eggs Benedict and coffee?" a waitress asked before setting down a plate in from of me.

"Thanks," I said, barely waiting to see if she'd left before grabbing my fork and digging in. The home fries were amazing, and the hollandaise sauce hit the spot. It was all I could do not to lick the plate clean. I drained my coffee, gave the waiter the check, and I was out of there. I had places to be and people to see.

I unlocked my car and sat down, twisting the keys in the ignition.

The only problem?

The engine didn't respond.

I tried again, panic beginning to rise. This couldn't be happening. This could not be happening. I had to have the worst freaking luck in the universe.

"Shit," I swore, banging my fist on the steering wheel and yanking the keys out. I fell back against the driver's seat, feeling defeated.

Why did this have to happen to me, of all people?

Well, the forces of the universe could try all they wanted to get be back to San Francisco, but it wasn't happening. I would pretty much die before having to return and explain my pathetic twelve hour disappearance. I would feel like a toddler, running off to throw a fit, before realizing there was no point, and returning with my tail between my legs.

No. I was not going to give up this easily.

I got out of the car and slammed the door, heading back inside the diner. I walked up to the front desk and waited for a hostess to appear. The waiter from earlier spotted me, and a puzzled look crossed his face before he walked over.

"Hey. Uh, no offense, weren't you just here?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, grimacing. "Look, my car is having trouble starting. Do you know where the nearest place I can get it fixed is?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It's Vulcan's. It's just down the street, a brown car garage with a big sign. You can't miss it."

"Thanks," I told him honestly, before turning on my heel and leaving the diner. I squinted into the sunlight before putting my sunglasses back on. Sure enough, I could see a brown building down the street, and with one last glance at my beloved Cadillac, I set off down the street.

Vulcan's was big, and clearly popular, judging by the number of cars in the lot. Which was, I hoped, a good thing. I needed my car to be fixed as soon as possible. I didn't plan on staying another night in Motel California.

I stepped inside, a blast of cool, air-conditioned air rushing at me. I pushed my shades up to the top of my head and waited by the front desk. There was a little silver bell to ring if you needed help, but I was kind afraid it would be rude to ring it. For all I knew, they were really busy. It looked so tempting…

Oh, what the hell? I was kind of in a hurry.

I rang the damn bell and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Coming!" a male voice called. A boy who looked about my age emerged from a door that led out into the garage. He was wearing a white muscle shirt and oil stained jeans, his black hair curling around his temples. His skin was deeply tanned, and he looked Latino. He grinned at me, clapping his hands together as he approached.

"Sorry about that," he apologized. "Dad's kind of busy lately. So, how can I help you?"

"My car won't start," I told him flatly. "I tried a few times, but the engine won't run."

"And your car is where, exactly?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"It's parked up the street in front of that diner," I replied.

"You mean Celeste's?" he supplied. Instead of waiting for an answer, he barreled on. "Don't answer that. Celeste's is the only diner open for breakfast here. One of the perks of a small town."

"So, how long will it take to be fixed?" I asked, starting to get impatient. I leaned up against the counter, drumming my fingers.

He looked up from the computer. "Well, it depends on the problem, Miss…" he trailed off questioningly.

"Vivaldi," I sighed. "Well, can you check it out? I'm kind of on a tight schedule."

"Just so you know, that's what everyone says. It's always go, go, go with people these days. Everyone has people to see and places to be. So I wouldn't really expect it to make a difference. I can get around to it in about fifteen minutes. I just need to change some tires. It won't take long. And since you're incredibly unfamiliar and definitely pretty, I'll try my best to shorten the wait," he added, smirking.

I ignored the fact that his every word flirted expertly. "Fine. I'll just wait here, I guess." I stepped back and eyed the row of chairs that clearly served to seat people that were waiting to be attended.

"You do that, Miss Vivaldi. And if you need anything, I'll in the garage. Ask for Leo. And if they don't know who that is, try Hot Stuff," he answered before heading through the door.

I slumped into one of the chairs. Great. I was stuck in some small, highway-side town for probably the next three hours or so, in a mechanic's shop, attended by a most likely playboy Latino guy who had an ego the size of California.

Did I mention that I have the worst luck in the world?

**Good? So now you have met Leo. And her trio will continue onwards, no worries. With or without our favorite Repair Boy, you'll have to wait and see. And I'm sure you're guessing who her two best friends in San Francisco are, too, and that will be revealed soon. All in good time. After all, it's not a good story if it doesn't keep you guessing am I right? Thanks so much for reading, and please do review, constructive criticism is ALWAYS appreciated! Love you all!**

**Xoxo-NotsoSugarQueen**


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N. So I'm officially in love with my readers. You guys just make my freaking day! All those email alerts about how I'm a good writer make me feel all good inside, even if I had the shittiest of shit days. It's amazing what some praise can do. So I'm bored, and since ya'll are awesome, I'm updating! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Nope, don't own PJO. Sorry, wrong writer.**

Three: Reyna PoV

I picked at my chipped nail polish, sighing for the tenth time in the last five minutes. Waiting sucked. Like, really sucked.

The garage was alive with people, mechanics and customers alike, buzzing through. Apparently, there had been some issues with the tires Leo had been changing, because it was going on thirty minutes. My patience was wearing thin.

I laid back, stretching my body across three of the waiting chairs. All I wanted was to get my car fixed. That's all I wanted.

Well, at the moment.

But clearly, whatever god or supernatural force that was watching over me was deciding that it was Piss Reyna Off Day. Because, even if I sounded like a spoiled brat, I WANTED TO BE OUT OF HERE.

"Miss Vivaldi?" a different boy, certainly not the one and only egotistical Leo (he had certainly made a lasting impression, and it wasn't necessarily a good one at that) came in, wiping his hands off on a towel slung over his shoulders. He was dark skinned and muscled, with a big, kind smile.

I sat up immediately, my sunglasses clattering to the floor. I snatched them off the tile, hoping the lenses weren't scratched too badly. "Yes?"

"Sorry about the wait. My brother says he'll be done in five minutes. A customer has requested a new paint job, and the paperwork is taking a little longer than expected…" he explained apologetically.

"Brother?" I asked, not able to keep the shock from leaking into my voice. Leo and this guy looked nothing alike. At all. And they certainly acted differently. Leo "Hot Stuff" Valdez could take a leaf out of his book.

"Half-brother," he corrected. "I'm two years older. The name's Beckendorf, by the way," he added, just as the door swung open, the little silver bell alerting us. The girl was around my age, with soft chocolate brown hair that fell in rich, easy banana curls and eyes like fine china, their blue sparkling. Her figure was long and leggy, and I couldn't help but feel a little bit jealous. I would trade a cup size for longer legs any day.

"Charlie!" she called, smiling contagiously.

"Charlie?" I inquired, raising my eyebrows. Beckendorf blushed.

"Hey Silena," he answered, the flush not completely gone from his face. The girl, clearly named Silena, sauntered over to the desk and leaned over it to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

"When do you get off again?" she asked.

"Six. There's a new movie playing at the Drive In, and I was thinking we could go," Beckendorf suggested, grinning. "I'm pretty sure it's a one time thing. Audrey Hepburn's in it, and I know she's your idol."

"You know me so well," Silena agreed sweetly, laughing a little. "Pick me up at six thirty."

"It's a deal," Beckendorf replied, kissing her on the lips this time.

"See you later," she called as she stepped out into the afternoon sun again. Beckendorf's eyes followed her.

"You like her, huh?" I remarked.

His face flushed again, but only temporarily. "Well—" he began, but was cut off abruptly by the entrance of his half brother.

"Oh, save it, Beckendorf, we all know you're whipped," Leo sang, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans and glancing over at me expectantly. "Well, Miss Vivaldi, I'm free. Lead the way."

I stood up and brushed off my legs, grabbing my purse. "Thanks," I called to Beckendorf, before hurrying outside, not caring to check if Leo was following or not. I was eager to leave this small town, no matter how many cute love stories it might produce. I was not a tourist. I was a girl on a mission to escape her life because she was too pathetic to suck it up.

The walk to Celeste's was a quick one, spent in uncomfortable silence, with the exception of Leo humming something annoyingly familiar, but I couldn't figure out where I'd heard it before. My Cadillac was sitting in the parking lot just like it had been almost forty-five minutes ago, the silver glinting in the sun.

"Keys," Leo said, holding out his hand. I hesitated and he shook his head. "What, you think I'm going to steal? Trust me, I don't think I'm interested in any of the girl crap you've got in there. It's just to pop the hood."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically, dropping my keys into the palm of his hand. He grinned, flashing his pearly whites, before opening the driver's seat and leaning in, jabbing the keys into the ignition to try the engine.

My heart fluttered with a last shred of hope that it was just a fluke, but then my brain took over with a dose of cold hard logic. Even if it was just a one-time thing, did I really want to take chances on that happening halfway across the country, in the middle of nowhere?

But I didn't have to worry, seeing as to the fact that the engine simply stuttered and died.

Leo frowned and proceeded to pop the hood up. He clambered out of the driver's seat and walked around to the front, pulling the silver hood upwards. It lifted with a creaky groan and I winced. He leaned forward, poking and prodding with the tubes and wires.

"So, why exactly do you have a suitcase in the back seat?" he asked casually as he inspected my car.

"Why do you want to know?" I shot back defensively. My business was my business, and not his.

"Don't answer my question with a question," he countered.

I rolled my eyes and sighed, hoping he would drop it. Unfortunately, he didn't.

"Don't tell me you're running off to Vegas to elope with your high school boyfriend," he continued, raising an eyebrow. "Because, number one, you don't seem like the type, and number two, I would think you would have more class than _that_."

"Well, you're right about one thing," I told him. "I'm not going to Vegas to elope with anyone."

"So you're running away then?" he prompted, not missing a beat.

"No," I snapped. I didn't like that term, it made my whole escapade sound ridiculously naïve and stupid. "I'm visiting some friends."

"Yeah, you're a runaway," he decided. "Because if you weren't, you'd probably have taken a plane. And I can see it in your eyes. You've got that look."

"What look, exactly?" I was getting more annoyed with him by the second.

"That hunted look. You're running from something, even if you do have a destination in mind. You think I haven't seen it before? Trust me, in a small town like this, in between Splitsville and the West Coast, we get a lot of people like that."

"You're an ass, you know that?" I told him fiercely. "I'm not paying you to analyze my life and my decisions, okay? Just fix my goddam car!"

He shrugged, slamming the hood shut. "Well, sorry to disappoint you, but it's the engine that's got the problem. And even if it were a modern car, it would take a week or so for the parts to come in and for us to install it correctly. But seeing as to the fact that this is from the 80s, I doubt we can still get one. One of the cons of having a vintage car." He slapped the side semi affectionately and leaned up against it, finally looking at me.

"Shit," I muttered. "Now I'm stuck here."

I was screwed. Stuck in some small town in California, with no car. A credit card, yes, but no car.

I would have to go back. Go back and explain…

My brain exploded with protests. No way in hell was I going to return and have to make up some stupid story about why I disappeared and look like an idiot. And not only that, but after the initial humiliation wore off, I would still have to go every day with hanging out with the two of them, and every time they so much as brushed hands it would be like ripping off the bandages.

"Where were you headed, exactly?" Leo inquired.

"You know, now that I know you can't fix my car, I think you should go back to your garage and leave me alone," I shot back icily. And then, in a fit of anger, I kicked my car. My stupid car that had to break down now of all days it could've picked.

"Fine. Don't tell me. I won't be able to improvise with you then," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "Just trying to be of service."

"I'm going to New York, okay? Manhattan," I admitted finally. "And maybe I am running away. But I don't care. It's just something I need to do."

"And so she confesses," Leo sighs wistfully, looking at me and shaking his head.

I ignored it. "Is there a bus that runs out of here?"

"I wish. But no, along with the fact that Celeste's is the only breakfast diner, you have to drive for at least an hour to hitch a ride. And that's on a Greyhound bus, and that'll take awhile. Trust me, if there was a bus out of this place, I'd be long gone," he informed me, grimacing. "You're driving from Frisco all the way to Manhattan? Christ. How long is that gonna take?"

"Not long enough to make me not go," I replied bitterly. "Now I guess I have to text Annabeth to tell her and Percy that I'm not coming."

"Wait a minute. Is this Percy's last name Jackson, but any chance?" he asked, suddenly alert.

"It is actually. Do you know him?" I looked up from my purse, raising a skeptic eyebrow in his direction. What were the chances of some mechanic's son knowing one of my friends from when I was little? The last time I'd seen them was when I was like, seven, when my mother had been on extended leave. Before she went back to Afghanistan.

"Do I know him? Hell yes. Before my mom died, we lived in New York. The two of us went to elementary school together. And someone else. His cousins, I think. Christ, it's been so long I can barely remember," he answered, staring at the sky with a slightly awed expression. I'm pretty sure it was the first time he seemed to be at a loss for words in the short time I'd met him.

I scuffed my sandal against the crumbling asphalt of the lot, trying to ignore the silence that seemed only half awkward.

He laughed, suddenly, shattering it. "God, and I thought I lived in a small town. Never considered the fact that it was just a small world."

"I guess," I shrugged.

"Well, I might be able to help you…" he began. "But I'm not sure. I'll have to take it up with my dad. Here, here's my number," he said, taking a pen from his pocket and without a word, grabbed my hand, scribbling down a sequence of numbers. "Text me later and we can talk. Or you can stop by the shop. Whatever works. But trust me, your world's not ending just yet, Reyna Vivaldi. I just may turn our to be your hero."

I snorted. "Yeah, okay, Repair Boy. We'll see about that."

"Hey, life is full of surprises," he reminded me before jamming his hands into his pockets once more and with one last flirtatious wink, setting off down the street, back towards the garage.

Yeah. As if I needed a reminder.

**You like? Well, it was so fun to write! I just love Leyna as a couple, and next up you'll find out exactly how our darling Repair Boy plans to help out Reyna. But you'll have to wait. And right now, even though this is definitely off topic, I'm ecstatic. I got a really good solo in the Nutcracker and I'm SOOO happy. It's indescribable. Anyways, please do review and tell me how you feel about the story so far. And thanks so much for reading! Love you all!**

**Xoxo-NotsoSugarQueen**


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N.: So here's the next chapter. I don't have a lot to say… well, I did post a new oneshot of Thaluke and slight Thalico called ****Dead in the Water****, earlier, so you could check it out. I'm working on the next chapter for ****What to Expect When You're Expecting: Demigod Edition****, but I'm suffering from a serious case of writer's block. Like, I know what I want to happen, but it's not coming out right. I feel like it's too expected, but I promise to have it out as soon as I think it's fit for my readers' eyes. You guys are so loyal and good and deserve a truly kick ass chapter, not some half-hearted cheap drabble with no plot. So I'm trying here, I promise. Anyways ,enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: How many times do I have to tell you that I don't own PJO?**

Four: Reyna PoV

How long could it take for Leo Valdez to figure out whether or not he could help me piece the remains of my life back together? I mean, honestly, I did not want to have to spend another night in Motel California. No thank you.

I waited anxiously in Celeste's, absentmindedly twirling around and around in my red leather chair at the breakfast bar. I was pretty sure that the owners were getting a little tired of my presence. I mean, I bought a water every once in awhile, and around lunchtime I'd ordered a club sandwich, but besides that, I was taking up a seat.

Well, too bad. It wasn't like there were lots of options of time killing activity in this admittedly small town. They would have to deal with it.

I drilled my fingernails on the counter and finally gave in to my urge. Taking out my cell, I dialed up the number written in slightly smudged sharpie on my palm.

Leo Valdez better pick up his goddamn phone, or I was going to have to kill him for leaving me hanging like this.

The phone rang three times on the other end. On the fourth ring, I was ready to scream. Thankfully, it picked up, saving me from making an absolute fool of myself in the middle of some small town diner. I didn't plan on staying, but I didn't want to be remembered as some crazy psychopath that led out frustrated shrieks in public.

"Hola," Leo answered, his voice breezy.

"Hola to you too. What's the deal, Valdez?" I demanded.

"Christ, who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?" he asked, still undaunted.

"Valdez, stop fooling around. What's the deal with helping me. I'm going to shoot myself if I see one more high school couple making out in the corner booth, I swear," I told him seriously.

"Come over to the garage. I got some time. You're lucky I finished those last two replacements as fast as I did," he suggested, and I could almost see his easy grin.

"Alright," I sighed, getting up. The waiter gave me a look and I smiled sheepishly, tucking the phone into my pocket and dashing out the door.

My sandaled feet slapped against the pavement as I ran down the block, the hot California sun beating down on my back. My hair was starting to get wispy around my face, fly-away strands swaying in the warm.

In seconds, I flew in the door of the garage, the door banging against the wall, causing the bell to jostle loudly. Beckendorf gave me a cautious glance. I winced.

"Sorry," I apologized. "I'm just… excited."

"Could've fooled me," he commented sarcastically.

"Don't be a bully," I told him firmly, and without permission, I continued on into the garage.

The air smelled like gasoline and oil, and the hum of engines met my ears in a loud buzz. I spotted Leo straightening up from working on a bright red vintage Firebird. My mind doesn't miss the fact that he definitely has good taste in cars. I was a sucker for anything vintage, and the Firebird was no exception. Plus the red… was kind of a hot color for a car. Better than my Cadillac's sleek silver.

"Valdez!" I yelled, weaving my way through various cars being worked on and stacks of tires and scattered tool kits.

"You got here fast," he remarked, slinging a rag over his shoulder.

I ignored him. "So?"

"Vivaldi, if you weren't in such a rush to get out of here, maybe you could've waited long enough for me to actually ask my old man," he replied, rolling his eyes. "I'm going right now, okay? He's right over there. I'll be back in five minutes tops. Don't freak out while I'm gone. If you destroy Marilyn… I will have to kill you."

"You named your car Marilyn?" I inquired skeptically, cocking an eyebrow as he walked past me.

"Marilyn Monroe is her full name. After the sexiest girl that ever lived," he corrected shamelessly, his voice echoing through the garage. None of the other mechanics looked surprised as his unabashed behavior. I guess when you worked with him, you got used to it.

I didn't think I'd ever adjust to him. He was the first guy I'd really talked to since I'd told _him_ I was going to the bathroom two days ago.

It had been a long time since I'd thought about Jason. Well, a few hours.

I was getting good about not thinking about it.

But that didn't make it not real.

Let me tell you some things about Jason Grace.

He was tall, and the kind of golden tan that comes with lots of sunlight and surfing. His hair was blond, but not dyed blond, and closely cropped, and it never looked messy. Unless you counted the _I-just-woke-up_ messy that it had after the three of us had slept over one of our houses when we were younger, or when he came to school only half awake. His eyes were clear, sky blue that made me want to sit down in a nice patch of sunlight and daydream my life away. And I wasn't the only one. Girls flocked him like flies flocked honey. But he never paid them much attention, except for the polite declines of dates that he dealt out each time some new sophomore asked him what he was doing on Friday night. Because Friday nights were our night. The three of us would go to the beach in my Cadillac and go swimming, the music booming loudly from my nearly blown speakers.

Of course, I didn't realize I was in love with him until we were ten years old, and all of the sudden his smiles seemed more special, his eyes got bluer, and every look he gave me, no matter how unimportant, seemed to matter to me. I collected those moments, those looks, and those smiles, and packed them up in a little box in the back of my mind. But I didn't tell anyone. Least of all _her_. I was afraid that if I told her, she would laugh, because the three of us were best friends, and it would be weird. At that age, we still thought a lot of boys had cooties.

I should've known better. The longer I kept it locked up inside, the more I had started to deny what was happening right in front of me. I'd missed all those glances he'd cast her way, the way he always picked her up first on Fridays or when he drove us to school.

The whole time I'd been in love with him, he'd been in love with my best friend.

_Piper McLean_.

She was the girl who didn't have to try to be pretty. She had hair that was like caramel, and she always it across the crown of her forehead to keep it out of her eyes. She was Cherokee, which gave her skin an earthy, cinnamon tone that stayed tan all year round. She was a little bit hippie, with quirky hair ties and beaded bags and grungy flare jeans. But it was just part of her, and made you love her even more. Everyone loved her. More importantly, Jason Grace loved her in a way he had never loved me. She was impossible to hate.

Which was what made it so hard.

As much as I wanted to hate them, I couldn't. Because they were still my best friends, and they'd been my best friends since second grade when we'd gotten stuck sitting next to each other in cranky Mrs. Richards' class. They had always been the source of such good things in my life, it was so hard to believe that they were the bad nightmare I was running away from. All of the sudden my careful grip on my life had been jerked from my hands when they'd told me that day when I met them at the party.

I wondered if she'd been able to tell that I wanted to throw up when she'd told me. I could still remember the moment in perfect clarity.

_"Rey!" she shouted, smiling ecstatically. She'd braided feathers into her hair and twisted it up into an elaborate top-knot, and huge peace sign earrings dangled from her ears. She stood, and I noticed how Jason's hand fell to his side. He smiled at me._

_ They had been holding hands. _

_ My stomach clenched, and released, and my mind shook with the impossibility of it. I swallowed._

_ "You'll never believe it," she continued as she approached me and enveloped me in a hug. "He finally got the guts up to say it! I can't believe it. I feel like I could die from being happy!"_

_ "He?" I asked, my heart skidding in my chest. The air had been sucked from my lungs, and it was hard to breathe. _

_ Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God._

_ No._

_ "The one and only Jason Grace is my boyfriend," she confirmed, nodding and smiling. She grabbed my hands and squealed like girls did in the movies. I forced a smile onto my face and hoped I looked genuine as I jumped up and down with her. _

_ But inside? Beneath the false, assuring smile I'd granted them, my mind was spinning. My world had been knocked off its axis._

_ For so long, I'd always imagined it to be Reyna and Jason. Jason and Reyna._

_ I'd never considered the possibility that it would end up as Piper and Jason, and I would be the discarded third wheel._

_ And just like that, in under a minute, my heart was broken. _

"Miss Vivaldi!"

Leo's voice yanked me out of my reverie.

"What?" I asked, still half out of it, and a little embarrassed. Leo didn't bat an eye, so I guess I was a little better at acting than I'd originally thought.

"It's official. You can call me your hero, because I just saved your life. Or at least, with you being so melodramatic about your runaway expedition, it seems like I've saved your life," he informed me, grinning wildly. He leaned against the hood of the Firebird and crossed his arms over his chest, awaiting my reaction.

"Okay. So how exactly, are you saving my life?" I inquired skeptically.

He smirked and patted the red hood beside him affectionately. "Well, let's just say you and my dear Marilyn Monroe are about to get to know a lot more about each other. Seeing as to the fact that I'll be driving you to Manhattan."

**So that's the fourth chapter. I hope you liked it, because it took me a little while to post. I was suffering some writer's block, and I apologize, but that's gone now. I was hit with sudden inspiration, and you're all free to bow down and thank me. Just kidding. I serve you. I hope you enjoy it and review! Please, constructive criticism is always appreciated, and check out my new story, ****The Love Club****. It's about Drew Tananka, and about how exactly she came to be the bitch she is. It's interesting, I promise. Do me a favor and read it and tell me what you think, since I'm not used to writing from a mean girl's perspective. It's different, I can assure you. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the update, and thanks so much for reading. Love you all!**

**Xoxo-NotsoSugarQueen**


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